


Collar Full

by calamitylink



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Spitroasting, Starvation, dw they work it out woo baby will be okay, for once theres more plot than porn!!, happy spoopy season!!, incubus wooyoung, mom are u proud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamitylink/pseuds/calamitylink
Summary: Every time Wooyoung feigns exhaustion after sex, every time he adjusts his appearance to look a little bit older, the guilt at the pit of his stomach grows. He feels awful about it, but he can’t tell them he’s an incubus; most humans don’t even believe that beings like him exist.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa, OT8 - Relationship
Comments: 25
Kudos: 199





	Collar Full

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT NOTE** this is NOT in any way a commentary on woo’s recent diet, no i dont think he was starving himself, no its not my place to say anyway. this is totally removed from that and is a work of f i c t i on 
> 
> that being said though please do heed the tags! its a bit darker than i expected it to be, so if youre uncomfortable reading themes of near-starvation and crippling insecurity, this is not the fic youre looking for!
> 
> title is from p!atd cause im an emo fuck

Wooyoung is having a good week.

Comeback promotions are going well, lifting their spirits through the busy period, and he’s been nailing all the new choreography lately, meaning more time for perfecting performance and vocals. And he just got railed by _three_ of his boyfriends in a row.

So yeah, a really good week.

Most of them are exhausted from their busy lifestyles, but they all make time for each other; it isn’t so difficult when the eight of them live together. And Wooyoung supposes that having seven whole boyfriends would be exhausting, too, but being with them is easy. There’s so much love in his heart for all of them, and when he sees that mirrored back at him, he’s more assured of this relationship than anything else. They trust each other, and there are no secrets between them.

Except one.

Every time Wooyoung feigns exhaustion after sex, every time he adjusts his appearance to look a little bit older, the guilt at the pit of his stomach grows. He feels awful about it, but he can’t tell them he’s an incubus; most humans don’t even believe that beings like him exist. 

So he manages just fine like this, an otherworldly being held to the confines of a mortal because he has fallen in love with what this life has to offer. He much prefers it to the fire and brimstone of hell, even if he could potentially run out of energy and die up here, but he finds that energy is easy enough to come by with such a myriad of sources.

The exception, though, is weeks like these. 

Whenever they have such a busy period that every moment is spent either practicing or sleeping, Wooyoung finds that he has to get creative with gathering energy. In times like these, he often goes to Hongjoong, who will, with enough gentle persuasion, let Wooyoung suck him off under his desk as he works on music for them. It almost always ends in Hongjoong fucking his face, stifling a curse as he comes into Wooyoung’s waiting mouth, then the older pulling Wooyoung up into his lap to finish him off, too. He also sometimes goes to San under the pretense of cuddles, and some not-so-innocent grinding finds him half an hour later with San’s cock buried in his ass, still wrapped up tightly in each other. 

He could feed from others when his boyfriends are too exhausted for sex, hide his face and leave the dorm for a night out, but he doesn’t want to betray their trust in this aspect, too. He feels guilty enough hiding what he truly is, and even if it is a matter of life or death for him, he refuses to cheat on them for a quick meal. And call him a romantic, but he thinks the energy gained feels that much sweeter coming from the ones he loves.

It always seems to work out, anyway. Wooyoung can keep himself fed and help them relieve some stress at the same time, hence the three solid bonings he got today. 

This much energy could keep him sated for a few days, so he is happy with what he can get and doesn’t push anyone for alone time. It isn’t until the fourth day, when his legs wobble dangerously in the practice room, that he realizes he’s forgotten about it altogether.

Sometimes, his wishful thinking fools him into believing he is a regular human, too, someone able to derive energy from eating and sleeping, but no amount of hoping can change what he is. 

So that night, after he wears himself out in the practice room again, he goes home hoping someone will be up and willing to spend some time with him. He glances up at the stars on the walk back to the dorm, noting that it must be later than he anticipated and hurries his pace.

But when he gets back, it’s to a quiet dorm. He curses himself as he realizes everyone must have headed to sleep already, possibly with the exception of Hongjoong. He could head back to the studio, toys with the idea for a moment, but casts it off as his body sways tiredly in the entryway of their dorm. They have a free morning tomorrow anyway, he’s sure someone will be willing to indulge him then.

It’s with this thought that he drifts off to sleep, too tired to think of much else.

~~~~~

When Wooyoung wakes the next morning, he feels like shit. And of course he does, sleep doesn’t actually _do_ anything for him, all he’s done is make his body go even longer without an energy source. He wallows in self pity for a few minutes, body aching, until Yeosang stirs in the top bunk.

Perking up slightly, he tries to hide how awful he really feels by chirping out a, “goodmorning, Yeosangie!”

Yeosang takes a second to shift around, groaning around a stretch in that deep sexy morning voice of his, before returning with:

“You sound like shit.”

Well. Blunt as ever, Wooyoung thinks, but he doesn’t let that deter him.

“What do you mean?” He whines slightly. “This is just my morning voice.”

Yeosang hums, climbing the ladder down from his bed and startling a little as he takes in Wooyoung’s appearance. 

“Are you sure you feel okay?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand to Wooyoung’s forehead. “You don’t look so good,” he murmurs, running the hand down Wooyoung’s cheek softly. His heart flutters at the tender contact.

And Wooyoung has been around for a while. He knows what he looks like when he hasn’t fed in a while, skin going pallid and dark bags forming under dim eyes, which thankfully pass off as human ailment fairly well. What doesn’t, though, is that it gets harder to control his human form when energy is low, demonic traits wanting to peek out and revert back to his true form. He’s been careful enough with energy control until now, kicking himself for letting it get this bad.

So Wooyoung takes Yeosang’s hand and tugs him into bed with him. Yeosang goes hesitantly, eyes still scouring Wooyoung’s face under furrowed brows, moving forward to gingerly straddle Wooyoung’s lap.

“Hi there,” Wooyoung murmurs, enjoying the closeness and warmth the other provides. He wraps his arms securely around Yeosang’s waist, going right ahead and smooshing his face into a firm chest.

“Hey,” Yeosang returns, shifting a bit until— 

“ _How_ are you hard right now? You must be feeling like death,” Yeosang says with a laugh, and Wooyoung has to laugh in turn because, well, he _knows_ what death feels like, and this isn’t quite it.

“I’ve got a lap full of my pretty best friend, how can you expect me not to be?” He coos, overly sweet, and Yeosang swats him on the shoulder.

“You’re insatiable,” Yeosang grumbles as Wooyoung noses at his collarbones, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. It seems like he’s all bark and no bite today, though, as he tilts his neck to allow Wooyoung more space to nip at his skin.

“Am I?” Wooyoung murmurs airily, grabbing Yeosang’s hips to slide their crotches together.

“ _Mmgh_ _—_ okay, fine,” Yeosang pants on top of him, squirming. “But let me ride you, cause I’m still…” he trails off, still embarrassed to say he’d been stretched out by someone else’s cock the night before despite all the time they’d spent together.

Wooyoung smiles into his chest, trying not to appear too excited.

“Let me at least prepare you a little.”

Yeosang nods from above him, slumping against Wooyoung bodily as a hand is worked under his loose sleep shorts. Once he’s ready, and they’ve divested themselves of only the essentials, Wooyoung almost cries when Yeosang sinks down on his cock with a stuttered exhale.

Wooyoung shuts his eyes tightly against the bright yellow irises threatening to overcome the glamour of the pretty brown he’d made, pushing aside Yeosang’s shirt to nip along the base of his throat. It’s hard to concentrate when he feels all fuzzy and groggy and gross, but with every rise and fall of Yeosang’s hips, he comes back to himself a little more.

“Youngie…” Yeosang sighs quietly, bouncing a little more insistently. 

“Just like that, Sang, _ahh,”_ Wooyoung moans, planting a hand behind himself to begin rolling his hips up to meet Yeosang halfway. The other hand stays bracketed firmly against the curve of Yeosang’s back, arching so prettily when Wooyoung brushes that spot inside him.

Yeosang isn’t very vocal in bed, opting for soft sighs over loud moans, and it fits the gentle morning atmosphere well. He only picks up in volume when they grow closer to release, desperation growing and thrusts becoming sloppy. Wooyoung won’t chance a look up in case his eyes are still piercing yellow, but he’s sure Yeosang looks wrecked—no better off than himself.

So instead he smashes his mouth into Yeosang’s, muffling his own moans and harsh breathing as they tumble into climax. Wooyoung can’t help the cry that leaves his lips, then, at the burst of energy he gets from it, spiking through his sensitive body like lightning. Mind going hazy with pleasure, he cracks his eyes open just enough to watch Yeosang come down from his high, panting and disheveled and beautiful in the dim morning light.

He realizes he’s been staring too long only when it’s too late, when Yeosang freezes up on his lap and his eyes go wide, and Wooyoung focuses all of his newfound energy into reconstructing the glamour on his eyes in a split-second of panic.

They stare at each other, shell shocked and silent, before Yeosang laughs nervously and rubs at his eyes.

“Woah, maybe _I_ should be taking it easy,” he mutters, refocusing on Wooyoung. “I totally thought your eyes were like, bright yellow for a sec.”

Wooyoung laughs once, too strained.

“Y-yeah, have you been sleeping well?” He asks, trying for lightheartedness. To his own ears it sounds suspicious and panicked, and he can tell Yeosang picks up on it too; but Yeosang doesn’t do anything save for furrowing his brows for a second, then letting the matter drop. He leans in for a chaste kiss, scratching Wooyoung’s head gently the way he likes, and slides off his lap.

Wooyoung keeps his guard up as they go through their morning routine together, but it seems as if Yeosang isn’t going to bring it up again. And if he stares at Wooyoung’s eyes through mirrors and across rooms more than usual that day, Wooyoung pretends not to notice.

~~~~~

It’s not enough.

Wooyoung staggers through the day, the group burning themselves out on practicing as they grow closer to comeback. He’s stumbling over his feet more and more, being sent to take short rests and water breaks between run-throughs and it’s not _enough._

By the end of the day, he’s frustrated. Frustrated at himself, for messing up so much and preventing practice from going as smoothly as it could have, and frustrated at the others for not knowing what he _needs,_ though he knows it’s misplaced. Wooyoung tries not to snap at them in the same way they’re all trying to keep it together, but they’ve been in this one room together for far too long, and when Jongho looks about ready to rip San’s head off from a poorly timed joke, they hastily call it a day. 

Normally, Wooyoung would continue working on some performance aspect, or vocal training, or even vlogging, but he’s _so_ tired.

He sits down heavily in the practice room, waving off Yeosang and Mingi as the last two file out, then drops his head into his hands. He’s feeling about on par with the night before, the shitty feeling amplified by how horribly practice went, and Wooyoung thinks if he doesn’t get his act together soon he’ll be worse off than ever. He’s starving.

He’ll have a sincere talk with Hongjoong, he thinks, hoisting himself up with difficulty. He’ll act like he’s just tired, apologize for his poor performance today, and Hongjoong will let him suck him off while he works on music.

Except, that plan goes halfway to shit when Wooyoung meets the floor again after taking a step, and he stays knelt on the ground for a few seconds just trying to get a grip.

For the first time in a long time, he’s _scared._

He can barely stay upright, how is he supposed to act normal? And his boyfriends are much too kind to fuck him the way he needs when they think he’s some kind of unwell. He worries his lip between his teeth, trying to fight the tears welling up without his permission. Hongjoong, right, just get to Hongjoong. If he can’t solve Wooyoung’s energy problem, maybe he can at least stop the tears and beat back his self-loathing for another night. Devil knows Wooyoung can’t do it on his own.

So he gathers his bearings and pushes himself up, teetering dangerously for a moment before he shuffles out of the room, taking care not to make any sudden movements that would offset his balance. He makes his way to Eden’s studio where Hongjoong likely is, knocking lightly twice before pushing the door open, knowing he probably wouldn’t be heard anyway.

And he’s right, Hongjoong only looks up in surprise when Wooyoung is mostly through the door, his expression shifting a little when he sees who’s come in. Hongjoong is good at controlling his emotions and expressions, great even, but Wooyoung knows his gaze tinged with exasperation is a slip from a long day and just wanting to be alone. Even so, it hurts being on the receiving end of it. 

Hongjoong slips his headphones down around his neck, raising his eyebrows in question.

“I-I wanted to…” Wooyoung starts, finding it difficult to force out the words through his pride and his muddled mind. “Apologize for today, I didn’t do my best and everyone suffered for it,” he says, unable to look Hongjoong in the eye. He feels dizzy, subconsciously gripping the doorknob behind him tighter.

Hongjoong sighs.

“Wooyoung-ah, it’s okay, we all have bad days,” Hongjoong starts, eyeing the space between them. It’s true that Wooyoung would usually be in Hongjoong’s personal bubble by now, leaning a hand on his arm or a chin on his shoulder, but he really can’t move right now for fear of collapsing again. “Besides, you don’t have to apologize to me, or anyone. Get a good night’s rest and promise _yourself_ you’ll do better next time,” Hongjoong says gently, an endless fountain of wisdom.

Wooyoung can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes, again, as he is reassured that their leader isn’t mad, he’s not disappointed, but always pushes him to be better, be the best version of himself. 

“Okay,” he squeaks out, rubbing at his eyes. And despite the reassurance he feels weird, and bad, and horribly drained from the energy deficiency. _Oh man,_ he thinks miserably, _how am I supposed to ask to blow him now?_

Hongjoong coos gently, placing the headphones down and standing to make his way toward Wooyoung.

“Come here,” he whispers, arms out, and Wooyoung really should have thought twice before taking a step while rubbing at his eye, because as soon as his foot knocks into the couch and he loses balance, he’s not strong enough to stop himself.

He tumbles to the floor with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, Hongjoong’s startled yelp barely piercing his ears like he’s underwater. He blinks at the carpet for a second, registering Hongjoong petting down his arm, seeing hands flap in his periphery but not quite being able to focus on them. He remembers thinking _no, no, don’t call a manager, please,_ then the rest is somewhat of a blur before he finally focuses in on the ceiling fan in his room.

It’s quiet and dark, so it’s likely sometime in the middle of the night, but there’s a figure sitting on the bed next to his head; one that’s carding his hand gently through Wooyoung’s hair, almost as if soothing him in his sleep. When Wooyoung shifts his head to blink up at the figure, Seonghwa only gazes at him with a pinched expression, something pitied and caring and guilty wrapped up in one.

Wooyoung is tired, so tired. It’s almost enough to distract from the gnawing, constant hunger plaguing his body, building building building _—_

“I’m sorry,” comes a whisper, almost too quiet to hear. It could mean any number of things: _I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I’m sorry our schedules are running you ragged. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you._

So he mutters that it’s okay, even though he’s the farthest from okay he’s ever been, because he chose this life and everything that came with it. Wooyoung rolls onto his back, an invitation, and Seonghwa gives him a tight smile before sliding under the covers with him.

“If you’re not feeling better by tomorrow we’re taking you to the hospital, okay? And even if you feel better, no practice. You need a day of rest,” Seonghwa murmurs, and Wooyoung is too groggy to argue. It feels like his tongue is made out of lead.

Seonghwa must think he’d fallen asleep again when he receives no reply, and only kisses Wooyoung’s cheek softly before settling down. Once his breaths even out and Wooyoung is sure he’s asleep, he lets tears fall silently and holds his hyung tighter. Because one way or another, this might be the last night he ever gets to do so.

~~~~~

He wakes slowly, fighting his body for consciousness.

He can feel it, the way his energy is ebbing away, and with it, his desire to keep up this act. It would be so much easier to just tell them. That way, one way or another, something has to change. That way, when they inevitably kick him out… 

Seonghwa stirs against his side. Wooyoung feels like something is off.

Aside from the fatigue and insatiable hunger he’s grown used to, he feels off somehow, but can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Seonghwa opens his eyes, then, tiredly pressing a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead and replaces his lips with his hand, checking for fever. He squints at his hand, then at Wooyoung’s forehead. He blinks, and blinks again.

“What the fuck?” 

And all at once, Wooyoung realizes what the problem is. The glamour on his skin is gone, he’s just been laying here with inhumanly _gray skin_ and didn’t even notice; and oh boy, he’s not strong enough to reconstruct it quickly.

In a panic, he wrenches the blankets up to cover his head, almost knocking Seonghwa off the bed in the process. Luckily, it’s dark enough in the room where he thinks it can be played off as a trick of the light. Maybe.

“Woo?” he asks hesitantly, “what are you _—_ what was _—_ ”

“I just want to sleep longer,” he croaks from under the blankets, shrill and panicked and not at all convincing.

“But your—“ Seonghwa sighs. “It doesn’t matter. If you’re feeling really awful you should go to the hospital, jagiya.” He sounds really concerned. Wooyoung’s heart thumps pitifully.

“Just give me till tonight, please,” Wooyoung whines, feeling Seonghwa try to tug the blankets away from his face. He holds fast, though, gritting his teeth against the guilt.

And Seonghwa eventually acquiesces (because he’s never been able to say no when it comes to Wooyoung), on the condition that he checks in with them throughout the day and will _absolutely call a manager_ if he gets worse. Wooyoung agrees readily, breathing shakily in relief. As the morning goes on around him, he stays stubbornly beneath the covers even as Yeosang pops in for a moment to grab clothes, and leaves quietly. In ones and twos and threes, they leave the dorm, and Wooyoung is left alone.

What is he doing, keeping this huge secret from them? He won’t survive much longer like this, he can’t. But what can he do, other than slip out and convince some stranger to— 

No, absolutely not. Bile rises in his throat at the thought, even though he’s done it before, but not once while he’s held their trust like this. 

He loves them. More than anything he’s loved in his miserably long life, and he knows, feels it in their gazes and actions that they love him, too. But if he tells them his secret, he has to be prepared to give it up.

So he spends the rest of the day slowly reconstructing his beautifully tanned skin, mentally preparing and rehearsing because this is it. It’s now or never and this group is _it_ for him.

When the seven of them come home, they come together, dropping bags of takeout on the table where Wooyoung stands to greet them nervously. They notice how he has to haul himself up to do it, and San immediately comes to his aid, bracing a hand behind his back in a comforting half-hug. Wooyoung sways dangerously, vision splitting. Where did they find another Yunho?

“Woo-ah,” Hongjoong starts, and Wooyoung already knows what he’s going to say. “You look worse than ever,” he winces sympathetically, “I think it’s time to go to the hospital.”

“Hyung, no,” Wooyoung starts, Hongjoong cutting in again frustratedly.

“They can help you, Woo, and I know hospitals are scary, but we’ll be with you, a couple of us will go with you, okay?” He says firmly, fishing his phone out of his pocket. San squeezes his side reassuringly.

“You can’t,” he blurts. This isn’t going how he wanted it to. “It’s not— ” he breathes out harshly, frustrated.

“It’s not what?” Hongjoong asks warily. Wooyoung takes a last look around, takes stock of their panic and their worry and their love and decides, finally, to let them in.

“It’s not what you think,” he mutters tiredly, brokenly. “It’s not something medicine can fix.”

And that finally gets Hongjoong to hesitate dialing their managers, fingers stalled halfway to seven digits.

“What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

Wooyoung sinks down in a chair, fatigue warping his vision.

“Remember the other day when you thought you saw my eyes turn yellow Sangie? And my skin go ashy and gray hyung?” he asks, staring resolutely at his feet. Wooyoung doesn’t wait for a response.

“Well, you weren’t crazy.” 

And for the first time in years, Wooyoung shifts.

It feels amazing, and he loathes how _right_ this feels, how much better his true form feels to be in than any fabricated one. Even as he hears a collective shocked gasp (and one cut-off shriek), he can’t help the sigh of relief as his horns, wings, and tail are freed. The clarity of mind that comes from not having to expend energy on a fabrication of himself is _liberating,_ and he takes a moment to collect his thoughts.

His boyfriends are silent as Wooyoung shakily explains what he is, how he survives, spitting out the words that have always been so repulsive to him, especially now when it might cost him everything and everyone he’s worked so hard for. And as far down in self-loathing he is, he can’t help but want to stay. He wants to be selfish just this once, to plead his case because he loves them, because he wants to keep loving them.

“Please, please don’t kick me out,” he pleads with them, borderline hysteric gaze skittering around the room to meet shocked faces. “I won’t make it weird, I can get my energy somewhere else—”

“Are you hungry?”

A sharp voice cuts in from his left. He knows without looking that it’s Seonghwa. Seonghwa who always took care of him, of _them,_ but a bitter taste rises in his mouth as he worries that he has ruined this and will never get it back.

“Wh-what?” Wooyoung asks tentatively, glancing over. Seonghwa’s expression is surprisingly calm, the calmest out of all of them, and while he can’t exactly tell what he’s thinking, there’s none of the anger Wooyoung was expecting. No open disgust, no scoffing or scorning. He almost looks concerned.

“I said, are you hungry Wooyoung-ah?”

Wooyoung is _ravenous._

He nods shyly, hands clenching and unclenching around his elbows, tail curving around his shins protectively. He’s been pushing his absolute limit the last couple days, slowly fading away but helpless to stop it. And even now as he sways slightly in his chair, the thing he fears most is judgement from the ones he loves. He can’t bring himself to meet their eyes.

“I want to be clear,” Seonghwa starts up again. This time, Wooyoung can hear determination ring in his voice. He realizes with a pang that it’s his “second-in-command” voice, the one Wooyoung teases him for when he wants to assert his authority as the oldest.

“We’re shocked, yes, but we don’t hate you, Youngie,” he says. Wooyoung snaps his head up, disbelieving. 

“You’re still our Wooyoung, our happy virus,” he continues, firm, “there’s just more to you that we’ll have to get to know, and love. And eight makes one team, always,” Seonghwa finishes, punctuated by wrapping Wooyoung up in a tight hug, not minding the horns on his head or his yellow-slit eyes. Not minding that, just an hour ago, he was a different Wooyoung entirely.

“Yeah, hyung,” Jongho speaks from somewhere to his left. “We’re not just going to stop loving you. You deserve to be here, we _want_ you here. Please stay.”

He can’t help the tears welling up in his eyes, then, and lets them fall when he feels familiar arms hold him from the other side. His Sannie. The rest of them join in on the group hug, a hand petting down his arm or in his hair, and the murmured words of affirmation only make him sob harder.

When he’s calmed down, and assured he doesn’t have to leave the group, Wooyoung is reminded of just how poor his decision-making has been lately by the heaviness in his bones and headache pounding behind his eyes. He needs to feed, but he doesn’t want to break the tender moment and push for more than what he’s allowed to have.

Thankfully, Seonghwa seems to sense his mood shift.

“Now let’s get you fed, is that okay?” he smiles, still melancholy and heavy with concern, but real and genuine and relieved. Wooyoung nods quickly, not one to scorn a gift. The others break up their hug pile so that Wooyoung can leave with Seonghwa, but he finds his legs are too weak to hold him, and collapses back in the chair.

“Oh baby,” Seonghwa coos, all concern and gentleness, and hoists Wooyoung up by his thighs to carry him to his room. Wooyoung wraps his legs around Seonghwa’s waist, whimpering at the display of strength and immediately nuzzling into his neck in embarrassment. He feels a light chuckle rumble through Seonghwa, and before he knows it, there’s the sound of a door closing and he’s being deposited on a bed.

He’s too weak to move much, very much content to just lay there and let Seonghwa care for him, so Wooyoung lets his head roll to the side, humming soft, pleased moans as Seonghwa gets them undressed and peppers kisses along his neck.

Wooyoung cracks an eye open to meet a hunger in his gaze, burning its way appreciatively down Wooyoung’s body. Without a shirt, his small, bat-like wings are on full display, as is an expanse of pearl gray skin, free after being held in human form for so long. He preens at the silent compliment, pointed tail coming up to drape over Seonghwa’s arm in an intimate gesture.

“How do you want me, Young-ah?” Seonghwa asks him, husky voice in his ear sending shivers down his spine.

“Fuck me hyung, please,” Wooyoung begs, desperate. Seonghwa pecks him on the cheek, reaching for the lube on the nightstand when Wooyung remembers something, a luxury he isn’t allowed to use when he hides in human form. He rolls over with great effort onto his elbows and knees, shoving his ass back at Seonghwa.

“Don’t need it, hyung, just put it in _please,”_ he whines, and when he hears a sharp intake of breath and a choked curse behind him, he knows Seonghwa has discovered that his entrance is self lubricating.

“ _Shit,_ Wooyoungie,” Seonghwa’s voice sounds, laced with awe, and Wooyoung almost cries with impatience when he slips a single finger in.

“Don’t need that either, _please hyung,”_ he cries, “I can take it, I can take so much more than a normal hum — _aahn!”_ His last word is cut off in a yelp as Seonghwa buries himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust, Wooyoung’s body finally singing in pleasure, in _relief_ knowing he’s about to get what he wants.

“ _Yes,”_ Wooyoung sobs, squirming a little in Seonghwa’s hold because it’s almost _too_ good. “Hwa-hyung, _use me_ , please, want it rough, want _you_ ,” he babbles, face half-smooshed into the mattress. Seonghwa growls, leaning over to bite at Wooyoung’s neck as he builds a steady rhythm.

Seonghwa only manages a few more sharp thrusts before they’re interrupted by a few hesitant knocks at the door, and Wooyoung has to pull at his hair to keep from screaming in frustration. Curiously, though, Seonghwa doesn’t falter or slow the rhythm of his hips, only calling for whoever it is to come in, smoothing a calming hand up Wooyoung’s back. Wooyoung cracks his eyes open just enough to see San slip through the door, closing it behind him. 

“What is it, San-ah?” Seonghwa asks, though the teasing lilt of his voice indicates that he already knows. Seonghwa grips Wooyoung’s hip to fuck into him harder, punching a moan out of him, body jerking a little with the force of it.

San approaches them, eyes trained on Wooyoung’s true form, curved black horns peeking out from his hair and arched back giving way to delicate, pointed wings. Wooyoung can’t seem to stop the soft moans and mewls falling from his mouth, eyes fluttering closed again as San’s hand pets through his hair. San sounds breathless when he says,

“I want to help.”

And that’s how Wooyoung finds himself sandwiched between Seonghwa and San, one ramming into his ass and the other fucking hot into his throat, and when they find a rhythm, _oh,_ Wooyoung could die happy like this.

He feels his eyes roll back as San abuses his throat, hands scrabbling uselessly at the bed and San’s thighs, happy to be used in the way his body had been _begging_ for for the last two weeks. San’s hand tangles in his hair and pulls _hard,_ pumping Wooyoung’s mouth on his dick like a fleshlight, and he can’t help the guttural groan that rips from his chest because he feels _good_ being a fucktoy for them, it’s _so good_ and it’s been _so long_ since he’s been fucked like this— 

He comes, untouched, onto the sheets below with a muffled wail, San and Seonghwa not even giving him a moment to collect himself as they keep using him. He likes it this way, prefers it, even, the hot drag of Seonghwa’s cock in his ass sending sparks through his oversensitive body in the most delicious way. 

San’s curious hands find their way back through his hair until they settle at the base of his horns, caressing them lightly. Wooyoung hopes San will grip them, force him down on his cock until he can’t breathe, make an even bigger mess of his face and throat.

“Can I, Wooyoungie?” San blessedly asks, hands ghosting around his horns. Wooyoung nods as enthusiastically as he can in his pleasure-drunk state, humming happily as San’s hands grip them like handles. It feels more than a little degrading, but Wooyoung loves it, arousal building again as San builds up a rhythm. On a particularly sharp thrust, Wooyoung chokes and sputters around his cock, and San pulls out for a moment before doing it again, and _again._

Wooyoung feels like he’s floating and burning in some kind of euphoria, used from both ends and limp like a ragdoll, only vaguely aware of any outside stimulation beyond both holes being filled, which is why he’s completely caught off-guard when he feels a spike of pleasure from his tail.

“ _Mmph!”_ He groans around San’s cock, pushing his ass back to meet Seonghwa harder as the oldest grips the middle of his tail lightly. His cock is fully hard and leaking again, dribbling a puddle of precome at the extra stimulation. He would feel embarrassed at how fast he’s coming undone again, but Seonghwa and San are attentive lovers, and that combined with his sensitivity and them already knowing his preferences makes a dangerous game.

“Close,” San grits out, one hand coming down to caress Wooyoung’s face.

“Gonna come inside, gonna fill your pretty mouth with my cum, baby,” he pants, thrusts growing erratic. Wooyoung moans in encouragement, taking San to the hilt and swallowing until San comes down his throat, each rivulet of come revitalizing him that much more. It feels _amazing,_ energy returning to his limbs and allowing him to _feel_ more intensely, and Wooyoung’s dick jumps as the feeling pushes him toward a second orgasm.

“ _Fuck,”_ Seonghwa hisses, hips stuttering as he, too, nears release. San pets a hand lovingly through Wooyoung’s hair, but he can barely feel it with the way he’s desperately chasing a second release, hips pushing back against Seonghwa’s in a bruising rhythm.

“Coming, _coming_ — _”_ Seonghwa pants, and that’s all the warning Wooyoung gets before Seonghwa grips the base of his tail, _hard_. 

Pleasure slams into him like a freight train, the combination of his most sensitive area being manhandled and Seonghwa filling him up from behind triggering the most intense orgasm of his _life._ His body feels hot, cock spurting come as Seonghwa fucks him through both their orgasms, every thrust drawing a little more out of him. He can’t stop coming _,_ crying out as his body is wrung dry, everything _San_ and _Seonghwa_ and _yes, yes, yes_ —

When he finally comes down, feeling as though all the tension in his body is drained, he feels euphoric and boneless and the most confusing mix of energized and exhausted. He mumbles something that was hopefully a thank you before everything goes a bit hazy, and he surrenders to sleep.

  
  


~~~~~

  
  


“Try not to worry, Joong-ah, let’s just give him a little bit longer,” a low voice murmurs.

Wooyoung wakes to the sound of hushed voices, blanketed and warm on someone’s bed. He panics for a second, tail twitching as he remembers everything he had admitted to the ones he loves, but the fear soothes and abates when he takes stock of his body, mostly revitalized, and he knows they have accepted him with open arms. He can’t help but tear up at the thought, body slowly rousing into the world of the waking. Arms hold him securely from behind, and someone else’s hand is tangled with his in front, and he feels comfortable. _Home._

“Well of course I’m going to worry, he screamed and then _blacked out_ for almost four hours,” the response comes, Hongjoong’s voice coming in frazzled.

“Who screamed?” Wooyoung asks, and he thinks the joke might have landed better if his voice didn’t crack halfway through, thick with emotion.

The response is immediate, his two hyungs dropping everything to see him, the whole room seeming to sigh in relief. It’s just another way he feels cared for in their presence, knows now that he shouldn’t have worried in the first place.

He spends some time wrapped up in them, coming back to himself and growing into the assuredness that he is allowed to have this, that they still care for him despite what he is. And when Wooyoung answers rapid-fire questions at breakfast the next morning, laughing and joking and whining as usual, his heart has never felt so full.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh *jazz hands*
> 
> also i realized theres not a lot of dialogue which like, kills the man (the man is me), so lmk if you think its too dense!! im always up for concrit <3
> 
> if u like sexc incubus woo pls leave a comment and yell at me on twt @calamiteez!! :> if u made it this far i love u, pls take my left kidney


End file.
